Beneath The Branches
by howtodisappearcompletely
Summary: 718 AD, Europe. Kyle and his family are chased from their home in Frankia, and find themselves forced into the dark forests, bizarre rituals and brutal hardships of a life amongst the barbarian pagans. Kyle's studies never prepared him for this, but he meets a pagan boy who turns out to be wiser and more fascinating than Kyle could have ever imagined.
1. Charles The Hammer

Chapter One: Charles the Hammer

We are the lucky ones. I had to keep telling myself that, as the icy rain pelted us like shards of glass, and the wagon kept catching and sinking into the muddy filth that squelched beneath my boots. We could have been rounded up and killed. We could have had our possessions taken. We are the lucky ones.

No one seemed to know where we were going, or how long it would take to get there, but I suppose that didn't really matter, as long as we escaped Frankia, and Charles Martel's men. Of the two cart horses we had taken to pull our belongings only one, Helga, was still strong enough to pull the wagon, and so only my younger brother Ike was allowed to perch on the back while the rest of us trudged alongside.

It was the third day of travel when we reached the end of Frankia and the beginning of Germania, at least according to my father we had, since we reached a vast forest. Germania was almost entirely covered in forest, apparently, as the people were so barbaric that they hadn't ever cleared much land for agriculture.

"Stay close through the woods." My father ordered, as the trees began to tower us in long shadows. "It's not a safe place for a small group like us, so keep your wits about you."

"Watch out for the wolves," My mother added unnecessarily.

"Sheila!" Father interjected, before whispering something in her ear about 'scaring the children'.

With that fool-proof advice he slapped Helga's side, and we rolled on between the boughs of the great oaks and into the darkness they cradled.

"Are there many wolves, Kyle?" My brother asked as I dragged my feet behind the group.

"How am I supposed to know?" I replied, perhaps a little bitterly, adding a murmur about how I was sure we'd be fine. Of course I knew no such thing.

"Why do we have to run?" He asked, shivering a little as the night crept upon us.

"You know why, Ike." He was incredibly bright, and I'd explained this possibility to him before so I wasn't in the mood to go over it all again.

"Because Charles Martel doesn't like Jews?" He replied tentatively.

"Exactly." The word turned to steam in the cold air as they passed my lips. "And the King does whatever Charles Martel tells him to." I spat after uttering that man's name.

"But what if we stayed, and fought, or hid, or something?"

"There's too few of us," My father interjected, trying to end the conversation. "Besides, our people are used to being forced to migrate over distances much greater than this – you know that."

Ike nodded glumly. "But that was for the Holy Land. I don't like Germania."

My father shushed him and motioned me to move faster. In the distance a wolf gave a chilling howl.

"Me neither." I muttered.

That night Helga collapsed, and we had to make camp where she fell, in the middle of the dense, seemingly endless darkness of the woods. No fire, because that would attract the wolves. No cured meat either, because the smell would attract the wolves. We just lay under blankets, silent apart from the creaking of our frozen bones. The stars that normally guided and lit the way for travellers were hidden behind the mesh of leaves.

Father tried to feed and water Helga, but in the morning she was cold and stiff. I hated her unblinking stare.

"We can only bring absolute essentials with us on foot." Mother announced, throwing clothes and food into bags.

"What about my books?" I asked, looking longingly at the work that had made up my eight years of education. "I don't mind carrying the extra weight."

"Out of the question." She replied, handing me a bundle of clothes. "You may not need them where we're going anyway." The possibility of that ripped through me like an arrow through flesh.

"But I said I would carry them myself!"

"And I said no. Now move, Kyle." With that our procession moved again, through the unchanging scenery of this wasteland that the pagans called home. We were coming to junctions in the dirt track, and father just seemed to be deciding on the spot which was the right way to go.

I blamed him for it all. A part of me still does. He was a moneylender back home, something the Christians weren't allowed to do, and they hated him for making money at. If he had done an honest job perhaps we could have stayed somehow.

In the evening we came to a junction that split in three directions. Unusually though, there was a tree in the middle of the road, its winding branches stripped of bark and writing carved into the wood. I craned my neck and read three very Germanic place names: _Helfenburg, Tefelstrom, Weimas_. We were a long way from home now.

After some deliberation we headed towards 'Weimas', I'm sure for no reason in particular. The noise of the wolves seemed to be getting ever closer, which convinced me that they were stalking us, or even worse we were walking right into a den.

"We need to get out of the woods tonight, I don't want to have to camp here another night." Father said, the growls now too loud to pretend he couldn't hear them.

The path began to narrow, and the trees either side of us still seemed impenetrably dense. Even with the cold air to keep us alert it was hard to stay focused, with tiredness and hunger taking its toll. Somewhere near us a branch snapped, and I imagined the heavy paw that must have broken it. I muttered a prayer and asked God to watch over us.

Suddenly a deer burst from the trees and across the path in front of us, running with a panicked determination that only comes with the threat of imminent death. I grabbed Ike and pulled him behind me, bracing myself though I wasn't sure what for – I couldn't fight one wolf, let alone a pack, and I certainly couldn't outrun them.

The forest was alive with commotion now, branches shaking and birds squawking warning cries into the frosty night. A wolf pounded into the road, followed by two more, and they stopped dead when they saw us standing there, the smell of our fear so obviously potent that they lost the scent of the deer they were chasing. For a while they just stared at us, panting, their fur clumped and wet.

"Felix!" A man's shout rang out through the trees, startling us all.

I was looking around to see the source, until Ike shouted "Dogs!" happily, and approached one. Before I could react he'd reached down and started petting the animal, which was tilting its head to expose the part of its neck it most wanted scratched. They were just dogs. Even better, hunting dogs meant there were people following, and all we had to do was wait.

Before long we heard voices approaching, and suddenly I was nervous. I had never met a pagan before, and all we learnt about them was normally either about how they converted to Christianity, or how barbaric they were. Apart from that my Christian teachers didn't seem to care much about them at all. The dogs stood watching us as the footsteps approached, guarding us as if we were an excellent find that they couldn't wait for their owners to see.

A handful of figures moved out slowly onto the road, watching us with suspicious eyes. One came to stand behind the dogs, patting it on the head slowly. They were enormous, tall and broad-shouldered, making my own father look like he was from another species entirely, a ganglier, frailer kind. They all had long, dark hair, either tied up at the back or just hanging down, and great beards like the nobles in Frankia used to wear.

"I'm sorry we disturbed your hunt." My father said eventually, speaking slowly as if he was talking to a child, making me cringe inwardly.

"Do not worry." The man petting the dog said, his voice not quite as booming or coarse as I expected, and the Germanic dialect was only slightly different from our own. "Why are you travelling through our lands?"

"We are fleeing France…" my father replied, choosing not to elaborate any further on the topic.

"Not safe." The pagan muttered, gesturing to the forest around him. "In such a small group, with children. Very unwise."

"We had no choice."

"Well, we are finished for today, it's too dark. Follow." With that he whistled, and the dogs raced ahead down the road.

I heard mother mutter something about how rude it was that they weren't helping a lady carry her belongings, but fortunately none of our new pagan friends seemed to hear. They lead us down the path, taking a turn when the road split, and soon the trees began to thin.

"I am Randolph." The man leading us said, staring intently and waiting for my father to follow his example.

"Ah, I'm Gerald, this is my wife Sheila, and these two are Kyle and Ike."

"Well, an enemy of Frankia is usually a friend of Hessia." The man smiled, showing a slightly incomplete set of teeth.

A stream splashed carelessly somewhere near, and I saw smoke billowing up from a gap in the trees. It was almost pitch black now, so we were moving slowly, whilst they strode casually alongside as if they were confident that the forest would simply clear a path in front of them.

In a small clearing we came upon a group of huts, dimly visible in the light of a half moon. The worn track led to the center of the town, past a couple of small fields scattered with bleating sheep. I don't think I was prepared for it to be so very different from home, and the large town of Dijon with its churches and schools. On all sides the forest and hills surrounded this enclave, a tiny spot of human life in the great darkness.

In the middle of the town a fire was being stoked by a group of boys, who were laughing and drinking from a horn of some kind. A black-haired boy was wrestling the horn free from the grasp of a large, overweight one, but stopped as soon as he saw us approach. There was a deathly silence, and he stared right at me as we walked past, the reflection of the fire dancing in his large, suspicious eyes.

"Is this where we're going to live now?" Ike whispered into my ear, moving closer alongside me as he spoke.

"No," I replied quickly, thinking back to everything I had already left behind to get here.

"It can't be." I repeated, though I'm not sure that Ike even heard. I'm not sure that it mattered if he did, or if those words were just between me and God.


	2. Axe-Work

Chapter Two: Axe-Work

Pigs sleep in straw. They don't mind the scratchy feeling, or the smell. I, meanwhile, could feel every pointy little piece of it sticking into my back. There was a drip somewhere Randolph's hut, where the rain was seeping through, and the embers left in the fire were barely glowing now, defeated by the freezing air. It was a stretch to even class that room as 'indoors'.

Luckily I was so exhausted, both in mind and body, that even the harsh conditions couldn't stop me from falling asleep, and I drifted into a slumber relatively easily. I dreamt of the winding stone hallways of my old school, and the pages of books turned in my mind.

Some hours later a creaking noise woke me with a start. I listened intently, but could only hear Randolph's heavy snoring again. I looked around, and my bleary eyes made out a figure at the door, moving towards me. As the figure got closer I backed away, bringing my knees to my chest and watching. I was ready to cry out the second they made any kind of move.

Once the silhouette reached me I could see clearly it was the dark haired boy I had seen by the fire, and he lay down slowly beside me. He saw me curled up and alert, and shook his head at my obvious fear. He must be Randolph's son, I figured, and I tried to just go back to sleep. I could hear him breathing gently next to me, the smell of alcohol clinging heavily to his breath.

By the time I woke the next morning, he was gone. The rest of my family were already awake, and were sitting around talking, and eating hunks of bread.

"Here," Ike said, tearing a piece off and throwing it to me. It was dense and solid, and felt like biting into a table leg, but I was still so hungry that I demolished it quickly.

"What time do we leave?" I asked through a mouthful of stale bread.

"Well, we're not going to be able to leave today Kyle…" Mother said, making my heart fall to the floor like a stone. "Your father has given Randolph enough Denari to let us stay here for a few days while we find a new horse and rest up."

"They use Denari here as well?" Ike asked.

"Not exactly, but silver coins are valuable everywhere." Father replied, throwing me the last small piece of bread. "Ike, you are going to come with your mother and me to look at horses to buy. Kyle, Randolph says the boys of the town are building a wall somewhere, I think you should help out."

"What? Why can't I come with you?" The idea of me doing any kind of construction work was truly horrifying, never mind alone with some pagan boys.

"Kyle, we are dependent here on our hosts' hospitality, so I don't want us to look lazy. If your brother wasn't too young to help he would be going with you." As he said this Ike gave me a triumphant look from behind father's back. He could be so insufferable sometimes.

I could see there was no point in arguing, and I didn't want to push my luck much further and start an argument that my mother would certainly get involved in. Despite my age she still had no problems giving me a smack if I was out of line. There's a roman saying that we still used in Frankia that says a man is admirable if he is able to 'receive a copper coin as joyously as a golden Aurei'. I tried to bear that in mind as I forced the stiff door of Randolph's hut open and trudged out into the village in search of this wall.

The morning fog still hadn't lifted, and it clung to the ground like a painful rash, obscuring the tops of the trees and hills that surrounded the clutter of huts in the village. The place looked deserted, with just a few women around washing clothes or tending to vegetable patches. I assumed that the men must all have been out hunting.

I walked to where the huts ended, but there was no wall in sight. Despite a strong desire to return indoors and claim that at least I tried, my fear of my mother seemed almost equal to my unease at confronting the pagans, and so I approached a group of women washing clothes at the stream outside of town.

They were a mix of creatures, some fearsome and broad shouldered like a man, but others fairly petite, undistinguishable from the women of Frankia apart from their braided hair and simple clothes. I consciously approached one of the less intimidating figures.

"Excuse me, could someone please point me towards the wall that's being built at the moment?" I tried to project my voice confidently, but it seemed to dissipate in the wind and fog into just a timid request.

The woman looked at me quizzically, probably wondering, like I was, what use on God's earth I would be at rebuilding the wall.

"In the valley." She said simply, gesturing to a path that wound into the trees. I nodded in thanks and moved back through the damp grass to the path, the dew soaking into my trousers.

The path was in the same direction as the one we had arrived on, but veered away into the valley of two steep hills. It was not long until I heard the noise of people working through the trees. The bite of an axe chomping into wood and the grunts of heavy lifting filled the air in between the forest oaks. It seemed that the woodland was so dense that the village defended themselves purely by blocking the roads, and judging by the direction it was the Franks and Charles 'the Hammer' Martel that they were defending themselves from.

I turned a corner and saw the group of five-or-so boys working, mostly the same boys I saw crowded around the fire the night before, including Randolph's son. They were cutting down trees, sharpening them into stakes at both ends and then driving them into the ground. One by one they stopped working as I approached though, watching me walk the last dozen or so yards and idly wiping sweat from their brows.

"Hello." I said eventually, after it became clear that none of them intended to be the first to break the silence. "I've come to help you build the defences."

I saw the overweight boy snigger out of the corner of my eye as I spoke, and my chest started to become heavy with embarrassment as they all just stared at me, their chests rising and falling in synchrony as they regained their breath.

"Y'sure?" A brown haired boy asked. He was slightly chubby cheeked, but not overweight. "It's a tough darg."

"Darg?" I asked, drawing a blank. I remember learning about how Frankish came from the same roots as the Germanic tribes' dialects, but I had never heard that word before.

"Darg." He repeated, a little slower, "y'know, work?"

The larger boy laughed again at this. "Them Franks don't know what work is – look at him!"

I cringed again. Luckily, a scrawny blond boy spoke up next, "any help's good help." With that, he fetched me a small axe, and they all went back to work, seemingly leaving me to figure it out on my own.

I was built for schoolwork, not axe-work. My hands were well trained at coping with ink stains and splinters, not woodchips and gashes. Still, I was determined to prove that I wasn't totally useless, so I searched out a fairly spindly tree and swung the axe at it with all my might, hitting the trunk with a satisfying thunk.

I was pleasantly surprised by how deep I managed to sink the blade into the wood, but I had failed to anticipate the difficulty of pulling it back out. I tried to lever it out, using all my weight, pushing with my legs against the base of the tree and straining with my arms, but it wouldn't budge from its resting groove. In my anger I kicked at the handle repeatedly, trying to dislodge the axe, and eventually a satisfying cracking sound told me I was close. I got the distinct feeling that eyes were watching me now, but I carried on even more frantically, fuelled by my embarrassment which burned red in my cheeks.

Then, with a final sharp crack, it broke free. By that, I don't mean the blade from the tree, but that the handle came clean off the axe-head, falling to the damp ground.

"Little fool!" The overweight boy shouted, jogging over and staring furiously at me.

"I'm sorry, it was a mistake, please…" I begged, taking a couple of steps backwards until I was pressed against the tree trunk.

"You're useless." Another boy spoke, the only one I was yet to hear say anything. "Go back to Frankia." He also had dark hair, but was shorter than Randolph's son. _I wish I could, _I thought to myself, but just stood there trying to calm my panicked heart.

"Yeah, you have arms like a girl!" The overweight boy chipped in again, stepping forward and grabbing my arm, his hand fitting around its small muscle easily.

"Enough." I looked around to see Randolph's son walking over. He had spoken softly, but the others seemed to take note, pausing to look at him.

"I will show our scraggly friend how to whittle. Let's get back to work. I want to be home before sundown."

He walked over to me, placing a firm arm on my shoulder to make me sit down. The others stared for a while, before finally going back to their various duties. At last I could catch my breath, and the images of being beaten to death out here over a broken axe finally abated. I was sure that pagans murdered people for less.

He sat down next to me, holding a long stake and a stout knife. "Stanley." He said, turning to look at me again with those large, sceptical blue eyes.

"Oh, ah - Kyle." I stammered, holding out a hand for him to shake. He just stared at it for a second, then placed the handle of the knife in my outstretched palm.

"Here," He said, leaning over and placing his hand over mine. His grip was firm, to the point of hurting a little, and he guided my hand to the stake, striking it in a downwards motion at the end.

I was expecting pagans to have a disgusting, unhygienic smell, but he didn't. The sweat from hard work was mixed with the scent of sweet sap and the woods. He took his hand away and I continued to carve the end, striking chips off as enthusiastically as I could manage. When I turned to check for approval, he had already left, and was back in the road hammering stakes into the earth.

I wasn't good at 'whittling' either, but I could at least do a passable job. The hours seemed to pass agonizingly slowly, with the blond and brunette boys passing me endless logs to sharpen. I hadn't eaten since morning, and my hopes that they would stop to eat or produce some food were dashed as the afternoon wore exhaustingly on. By the time the sun began to set my aching arm distracted me from my hunger though, and despite the cold air the cloth of my shirt was soaked in sweat.

"We're leaving." Stanley said, taking the knife back from me and turning to walk down the path. I quickly scrambled to my feet and followed, eager to stay with him where I felt somehow safer. We walked back along the winding trail in silence for some time, and the smattering of orange light from the setting sun receded with us through the trees.

I had to admit to myself that I was in awe of them all a little, and the ease with which they had carried out the work. I could see the muscle in his firm arms, and I was certain he could snap me like the branches they broke from the trees, if he decided to.

A group of men were returning from the forest with the carcass of a wild boar tied to a stick, and in the center of town the women were preparing a fire for the evening. I looked around for my family but they must have been indoors.

"Your hair," Stanley said eventually, as we came back into the village. "It's odd."

I squinted as the last rays of the sun shone into my eyes, before it disappeared behind the dark Germanic hills.

"…Yes." Was all I could think to reply.


	3. Freyr

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the support on this story :) _

_Getting feedback is a huge part of why I publish on here, so thanks. I'm keeping the chapter lengths (fairly) brief so I can hopefully stick to posting pretty regularly. Hope you enjoy!_

Chapter Three: Freyr

As soon as we were back in the village I headed off on my own to Randolph's hut to find my family. I think it had been the most difficult day of my life, and I longed for the familiar voices of my relatives. Even if we were arguing it would be a reassuring presence.

The hut, however, was deserted, and I had no idea where else to look. It shouldn't have taken all day just to pick out a horse, I thought, and so naturally I was plagued with the worry that perhaps Randolph had been planning to rob them all along – to take them into the woods under the guise of finding a horse and murder them in cold blood. He would surely have expected me to have gone with them, and when he returned he would come looking for me as well. I shivered at the thought, but tried to push it back in my mind. There was no way of knowing what these people thought of us, I just had to trust in their kindness, as ridiculous as trusting in the kindness of violent pagans was.

I tried to relax and lie down – telling myself there was nothing I could do anyway, but still my mind spiralled. I went through great spasms of fear followed by periods of telling myself I was overreacting, but I have always been naturally anxious, and the side of my brain that concocted vivid images of their deaths seemed to win every time. It was hard to say how much time passed like this, but the gentle noise of laughter and the crackling of the fire outside was all I heard, not the Frankish voices I was so desperate for.

It was only when I heard footsteps approaching the hut that I realised I had no plan for the worst case scenario, I had just been sitting in a dark room feeling sorry for myself. As the door creaked open I quickly pretended to be asleep, squinting to see who had arrived.

It was just Stanley, holding a flame which he used to light a few candles in the corners of the room. I made a show of pretending to wake up, stretching and yawning loudly.

"Sorry to wake you." He muttered, blowing out the original flame once the last candle was lit. He had his back to me, and I noticed then that he just had a cloth wrapped around his waist, and his hair was tousled and wet, having clearly come from washing in the stream.

"It's fine." I replied. The flickering candlelight shimmered on the beads of water that rolled gently down his back. He lifted his arm to shake more water out of his hair, the muscles in his shoulder moving with grace and ease.

Then, without warning, he dropped the cloth. I quickly covered my eyes with my hand, feeling shocked and intruding to be in the room at such a moment. The pagans clearly didn't care as much about these things as we did.

I heard him snort with amusement at my reaction, and I glanced through my fingers to see that his undergarments were now on.

"Where are my parents?" I asked eventually, managing to regain my calm and push the words out.

"Most likely they are in Gotha. That's where the most horses round these parts are." He paused as he pulled a shirt over his head. "Takes 'bout half a day to walk to."

I nodded. That meant they could still just be on their way home, though the forest tracks at night couldn't be safe, even with a pagan guide. At least tonight looked like a full moon would provide some more light.

The candles were giving off a horrible stench now, like burning fat. In fact, perhaps they were actually made from animal lard. In Frankia we used wax, which has no odour, but these brown, blotchy candles gave off a smell that clawed at the back of your throat.

"We are eating now." He said, moving to the door. "You want some?"

I nodded and jumped up, my stomach giving me a jolt of energy now someone had mentioned food. We went and sat out on one of the logs around the fire, and he introduced me to the other boys: the overweight one was Eric, the brunette was Clyde, the other dark haired boy was Craig, and the smaller blond boy was Leopold, or Leo.

On the fire was a hog, its ankles bound to a stick, being turned above the flames. I cringed, dreading having to explain why I couldn't possibly eat any of this and hoping it wouldn't offend anyone.

Once it was removed from the spit and began being chopped up, all the women and the older men gathered around to be served. It seemed customary that the man who managed to kill the beast would be served first, and an enormous, hulking man went forward to collect a large portion of the meat. After that, wooden plates were loaded with the stuff, along with a hunk of bread, and were passed around the circle.

After Stanley passed me a plate I waited until everyone else was busy eating or talking amongst themselves before tapping his shoulder.

"Do you want this?" I asked, gesturing to the pork. "We Jews can't eat pigs."

"You don't want…any?" He asked, looking at me like I had lost my mind.

I shook my head, and he held out his plate for me to place the food on it. He grinned happily at me after that, and began wolfing the meat down.

"Here." He said, tearing a piece of his bread off and putting it on my plate once he saw how quickly it had become empty. "You eat bread, at least?" He asked, laughing.

I nodded. The bench opposite ours was occupied by a group of young girls about our age, and I couldn't help noticing how one of them was staring intently at Stanley as he ate, but he seemed oblivious to the attention.

"You don't look like a Frank." He said, turning to examine me. "I have sure ne'r seen so many sun-dots on a man before." He added, his stare continuing as if he intended to now count every freckle to make sure of the fact.

"I…well, I suppose that's because I'm Jewish. I don't have a Frankish name either…" I muttered. It struck me then how few connections I really had that tied me to the land of my birth. In a bizarre way I almost had more in common now with the barbarians, cast out and hated by the Franks.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Broflovski." I replied, trying to speak slowly and clearly.

"Brov-lo-ki" Stanley tried to repeat. I figured it was close enough. "What's it mean?"

"Well," I began, a little stumped. Truth be told I had no idea. "I don't know, originally. It's from a faraway land though, in the East, and it means that my ancestors were Jews, so they had to travel many miles to find a new home – it shows we aren't Christians." I was aware of how bad an answer it was, but I wasn't sure how else to explain it.

"Huh." Was all he said. An ember from the fire shot up in between us, and I watched it hit the dark soil and instantly perish.

"What's your family name?" I asked eventually.

"Marsh." He replied simply. "Because we're from the marsh."

We fell into silence after that.

It was late in the evening before my family returned, arriving in Randolph's hut where I was resting while the other boys were drinking mead outside.

"Did you manage to get a horse?" I asked as they trooped in.

"No, I'm afraid not." My father replied. "It's not that there weren't any on sale, but we met the warlord of this area - he lives in Gotha - and he has given us permission to stay here until a trade caravan comes through that we can join. Apparently they come every month or so, headed for Constantinople. It would be a much safer way to travel."

As much as I could see the logic in what he was saying, it was difficult to accept. A month of living here seemed intolerable, and I was sure that a full week of back-breaking work like today would kill me. Constantinople and the Eastern Roman Empire would be more like home, where at least some people could read and write, and there would be some civilization and culture.

"I'm sorry Kyle." Father added, seeing the disappointment on my face. "These people have been surprisingly good to us though, and I can't risk travelling alone through the forests again if we can possibly avoid it."

"At least say I don't have to labour with the other pagan boys every day?" I pleaded.

"Kyle, don't be so selfish." Mother interjected, giving me her sternest look. "We all have to help out. Your father is going to make shoes and clothes, like he did before he was a moneylender, and Ike will help me wash and cook."

As if that was fair. A bit of washing and cooking compared with spending all day out in the woods building stupid over-sized fences. At least father wasn't going to be a moneylender here, as doing that always angered people eventually. I figured we probably didn't have any money to lend these days anyway.

"It may not be so bad." Father said, patting my head. "Randolph seemed impressed that you can read and write, so I suggested that maybe one day a week you help teach some of the boys here. How does that sound?"

"Even worse!" I groaned. Labour might kill me, but the idea of having to help someone like Eric learn the alphabet was a fate worse than death. "Father, I can't teach them, they're too old to learn now, and besides, they're pagans! Their thick skulls are only good for fighting, not learning!" It was only when I finished speaking that I noticed the creaking noise as the door opened, and Stanley walked in.

I was hit by a vast wave of awkwardness and fear, but if he'd heard me he didn't acknowledge it, instead just taking his shirt off and lying down in the corner of the room. My mother gave me a disapproving look, and the words 'now see what you've done' might as well have been etched across her forehead.

"Anyway," Father said eventually. "It has been a long day, I suggest we get some shuteye."

I was in a bleaker mood as we got ready for bed, knowing that this temporary stay wasn't going to be as temporary as I'd have liked. I longed to have my books now more than ever, so I could disappear away into some other world, of science or myth, and concern myself with problems that weren't my own.

We had barely all gotten under a blanket though before there was a frantic knock at the door, and the boy named Clyde burst in.

"Stanley!" He shouted, startling everyone in the room a little. "Wake up, a new moon is coming!"

I couldn't for a moment fathom what he meant by that, but I propped up on my elbows, watching as Stanley scrambled up and put his clothes and shoes back on. As they ran out we all followed, and found that the whole village was outside, staring up the sky.

I looked up, and saw the full moon begin, very slowly, to creep into darkness. On one side a crescent shadow began to emerge and grow slowly, and the people became increasingly agitated, shouting repeatedly.

It was just a lunar eclipse. I had learnt all about them, and how when the sun, earth and moon are all aligned, the moon is cast in shadow, but to them it seemed like the moon was under attack somehow.

"Freyr! Triumph Freyr!" They kept shouting, presumably reaching out to some pagan god. Some were ringing bells and others were bashing sticks against bowls or metal pans, creating as much noise as possible. As the eclipse continued, so did the racket, and the shouts of 'Freyr!' seemed to grow ever louder. In a way, it was amusing to watch.

At the moment of total eclipse there was a pause, and the town fell silent again, as if waiting to see if it had worked. Of course, the moon began to reappear, and cheers rang out. I supposed this ritual seemed to them to be working every time.

In many ways these people were like children, remarkably unaware about the world they lived in. I felt a little better about all the times I'd been afraid of them for their size and strength, now I saw how they could be terrified of something as harmless as an eclipse.

As the villagers started to head back inside, joyous that a 'new moon' had been born, I approached Stanley, who was still staring up at the sky.

"You know," I said, still amused by the bizarre events, "that was just an eclipse. There's no 'new moon' or anything like that. How it works is that when the earth and the sun-"

"Enough!" Stanley interrupted, turning now to face me.

"I only meant…"

"Just hold your tongue!" He shouted, the moonlight illuminating the blue hue of his large, angry eyes.

We were the only ones still outside now, and the cold wind attacked every bit of skin that my thin nightshirt failed to protect.

"I'd hazard you know all about it!" He continued, stepping closer to me now and bringing with him that uncomfortable, defenceless feeling I hated so much. "Everyman's much smarter in Frankia, right? And we're all fools?"

I tried to gulp but my throat was too tight to swallow back liquid. I tried to take a step backwards but he grabbed my shirt and pulled me back forwards with a jolt.

"Well, not here." He said, speaking softly now. "You can't hunt, you can't build, you can't fight. Your Pa, he's gonna make clothes for us now isn't he, doing women's work since he's not fit for ought else?" Stanley let go of my shirt as he spoke, and I started to edge away.

"So long as you're here," he said, smiling, "you and your little family are the fools."


	4. Scratching The Earth

Chapter Four: Scratching The Earth

Twigs snapped underfoot like frail bones. I had no concept of where I was going, but I knew that for some reason I was in a rush. The wind was so harsh that the trunks of trees seemed to sway and move, propelled by sails made of thousands of dark leaves. In the distance I could see a warm glow, but it wasn't getting any closer. Perhaps I wasn't really sprinting, but my feet were just turning the earth.

It didn't feel like I was running towards anything – I was running away. Something silent was chasing me, keeping up with ease, watching, waiting. Its large, dark form crept in and out of the corner of my vision, never fully visible, waiting to strike.

One moment I was sprinting down a path, the next it was a dead end, blocked by a wall of trees so large I couldn't see where their tops. When I stopped, so did the creature. I moved again, zigzagging through the forest as branches swiped at the air around me. I looked up, and the light in the distance was no longer there.

Then I tripped, hanging in the air for a fleeting moment before I hurtled to the ground in a mess of dirt and leaves. I tried to scramble up but there was no point, it was advancing out of the shadows towards me, its eyes illuminated in the darkness.

I shut my eyes and saw images, of home and of old times, then of the last few days, and of Stanley. I relived his anger at me, then the next moment I was back in the hut, he was shirtless and his hair was damp. When I opened them again the creature was nearly upon me. It almost looked human.

"Kyle?" A call rang out through the woods. Suddenly the presence was gone, and my eyes drifted shut.

"Kyle!" I woke with a start. There was a girl standing over me, holding out a slender, pale arm.

"Everyone's looking for you." She said, helping me to my feet. She was the girl who I'd seen looking at Stanley while we ate last night, and up close she was mesmerizingly beautiful, with long dark hair down to her hips, and two braided strands at the front. Her face was gentle and pretty, like the illustrations of Greek goddesses in the texts I used to read. "I'm Gwendolyn." She said, smiling.

I was disorientated, and I nodded dumbly at her. The moon hung low in the sky, so it wasn't too long before sunrise, and I had been just lying out in the woods in my night-clothes. I watched Gwendolyn's mouth move as she spoke to me, her face looking concerned, but I wasn't of a mind to listen. I often had nightmares and sometimes wandered my house back home while I was asleep, but I had never done anything like this. I didn't really feel like I had just woken up, I just felt more alert, my mind less muddled.

"Sorry?" I asked, noticing Gwendolyn staring at me as if she was waiting for an answer of some kind.

"I said you're chilled to the bone. Let's go back, it's almost the morrow." I followed her through the trees, but I glanced over my shoulder every once in a while, to see if anything was following. I still had that heavy sensation of being watched.

My mother ran out to engulf me in a hug when we reached the edge of the village, and I could see her eyes were blurry and red from spilling tears. Messages were sent around to let everyone know I had been found, and people slowly started returning from the woods. The first creeping signs of dawn were already on the horizon, so there was little point returning to bed.

"You just left, I woke up and you were gone." She said, still holding me tightly.

"I don't know what happened, I must have walked in my sleep…" I muttered.

"You're stressed and nervous, your mind is probably running wild with everything that's happened. I was so worried bubbeleh." She said, using the old nickname she called me as a young child. I was surprised to see the group of boys I had been working with yesterday walking out from the trees, and even Stanley had been looking for me.

"Don't do it again, blockhead." Ike said, smiling at me wryly.

The boys were all sitting around the ashes of the fire, with Clyde trying to rouse it back to life. I decided to confront them now, and get my awkward apology to Stanley out of the way as well. I knew a week here would be bad enough without them all despising me any more than they already did.

"I'm really sorry I made you come and search for me like this." I said simply, sitting down next to Craig on the end of a log.

"What in hell were you doing?" Eric asked, staring at me. "Are you possessed or something?"

"No!" I replied quickly, "I get nightmares, and sometimes I walk in my sleep, but not normally out of the house…"

The fire sparked into life, and Clyde grinned triumphantly, throwing down the kindling he'd been using and sitting back down.

"Freak." I heard Eric mutter under his breath, but loud enough that he'd clearly wanted me to hear. "Roaming about the forest on a full moon like some demon. What kind of nightmare makes you do that?"

I realised after the pregnant pause that he was waiting for an answer. "I mean, uh, I felt like I was being chased, not by an animal but something…else."

"Eh!" Eric exclaimed, suddenly sitting upright and wide awake. "That's the Schrat! Told youse all they were real."

"What?" I asked, intrigued by how excited he'd become.

"Don't be stupid." Stanley interjected. "It's just some myth he talks about too oft for his own good."

"What do you know Stanley?" Eric asked, poking the taller boy in the chest. "I've _seen _one."

"Sure you have." Clyde said, tossing a stick onto the flames.

"Believe what you will. I've seen one, now this Jewish freak has too." People started crowding around the fire, preparing to cook breakfast or heat water, just as the sun emerged fully over the shadowy hills. It was apparent that this was as far as the conversation would go, and I wasn't going to hear Eric's theory on what exactly 'Schrats' were. I asked to speak to Stanley alone, and we walked away from the group.

"I'm sorry about what I said." I told him, trying to avoid having to look him in the eye for this awkward moment.

"Just remember," he said after a brief silence, "you're staying with us, but don't think you can change ought. We're alright just as we are."

"Of course, sorry."

"The rest of them already don't like you." He said bluntly, gesturing to the boys around the fire. "You don't want me not liking you too. Lucky for you I don't bear grudges." He gave a small smile, and patted my shoulder.

"Are we working on the defences today?" I asked, trying to prevent the uncomfortable silence I could sense bubbling up.

"The rest of those idiots are." He said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the group again. "My pa wants you to teach me how to read and write, he says it's useful. I don't see the point, honestly, but I don't get a say in these things."

"Oh, okay." I was glad not to be building again, and equally glad that I only had to teach Stanley and not the rest of the brutish group. Despite what he had said he seemed equally pleased not to have to do the back breaking work, and certainly didn't put up any resistance to the idea of learning literacy all day.

We took our time and ate breakfast, watching the rest of the village go about their routine very efficiently, everyone practiced at their jobs like well-rehearsed jesters and gymnasts at court. There seemed to be some discontent amongst the other boys that Stanley wasn't going to be helping with the work, and I seemed to be getting some poisonous glances from most of them.

Stanley suggested that we went down to a quiet spot in the grassy glade by the river to have some peace and quiet, and I watched him stuff a hunk of bread and some cheese into a satchel before leading me down away from the huts. I was tired from my lack of sleep, but not shaken up anymore, and I was far less apprehensive about doing a little bit of teaching than I was about trying to turn trees into a defensive barrier. Ike had mastered the basics of reading and writing by the age of about four, only a few months after my parents had adopted him from somewhere up in the snowy north of Frankia, so it couldn't be hard even for a pagan.

"Do you have any papyrus and quills?" I asked, once we were perched on the grass. We were a few feet from the water's edge, where it splashed into rocks, bouncing and sloshing its way towards the sea.

"No…" Stanley said, seeming a little amused at the idea he would own something like that.

"What about parchment, from animal skins?" He just shook his head at me. "Right." I muttered, wracking my brains for a way to teach this.

I recalled learning about Christians back in the olden days of the Roman Empire, where they would draw a fish in the sand to let the other know they were a Christian without being caught and crucified. I found a short, sturdy stick and patch of earth devoid of any grass, and that seemed like the best I could do.

"Are we starting from the beginning?" I asked.

"No, I can write a little. Well, I can write my mark." Stanley said, clearly quite proud of this.

I handed him the stick and pointed to the ground. He began to draw in the earth, his face etched with focus and determination as he guided the stick to form this 'mark'. I smiled upon seeing his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.

"There." He said, looking back up. On the ground were four ill formed but legible letters: _S T A N_.

I nodded at him, grinning. "Stan?" I asked, amused.

"I never learnt the rest." He shrugged, handing me back the stick.

"I like it. Stan." I said. "I might call you that from now on." He just laughed.

I rubbed out his work with my foot, replacing it with the entire alphabet scratched into the dark, crumbly soil.

"So, _Stan_. These are all the letters."

For the rest of the morning I just tried to get him to recognise each shape, and what it meant. It was very foreign to me, teaching something that seemed so natural now. He seemed to have a confident grasp all the way down to 'R' by the time the sun was at its zenith, but after that he was less focused, and a little worn out, so I suggested a break for lunch.

"What are the Schrats that Eric was talking about?" I asked as he pulled the food from his satchel and divided it up.

"Don't worry about them." He replied. "It's just nonsense 'bout these people that are meant to live in the woods and hunt travellers who pass by, but Eric's the only clot who believes it."

"People?" I asked.

"Of sorts. Some say they were people once, but now they've become somethin'… _other_…" He replied, widening his eyes and speaking the words softly, like he was telling a scary story, then laughing when he finished.

I watched as he divided the bread and cheese, handing me an equal half, or perhaps even slightly more than he gave himself.

"Here," I said, tearing a piece off and giving it back to him. "I don't need this much. You're a lot bigger than I am, you need it more."

He looked at me with a bemused but smiling expression. "You're a strange one. I've ne'r met anyone quite the same as you."

"Is that a good thing?" I asked, trying to read his face for any sign of what he was thinking.

"I'm not so sure I know what I think yet." He said slowly, as if he was seeing if he could make up his mind in the time it took to say the words. "I'm not sure it's good for a simple man like me to spend time with the likes of you."

I was never really sure if he was still angry about what had happened during the eclipse ritual or not, but I tried to push it to the back of my mind. As the afternoon passed I carried on teaching him, enjoying whenever he found it difficult and I saw his brow furrow and his tongue appear just a little. All the while I kept thinking, there was nothing simple about him.


	5. Antlers

A/N: Sorry for the delay!

Chapter Five: Antlers

"Keep looking at the target, then pull back the string." I watched as Stan's hands worked, the arrow easing back in a smooth motion.

"Close one eye, let the air out of your body, and…" I heard the gentle sigh of his lungs emptying, and he was perfectly still for a moment, before suddenly releasing his grip. The arrow flew out of the bow and escaped my vision almost straight away, returning only when it thudded into the round target we had carved into a tree a few dozen paces away.

"Wow." Leopold and I said in unison. "You sure are lucky to have a teacher as good as Stanley, Kyle." The small blond boy said, smiling. He was about my height, and only looked slightly bulkier, if at all.

"Now you try." Stan said, handing me the bow and reaching over his shoulder to pull an arrow from his quiver. "Here, like this." He moved behind me and placed his hand on my shoulder, gently turning me until I was side-on with the target. "Put the notch of the arrow in – yea, just so." He said, and I felt a brief rush of pride at getting something instinctively _right _for a change.

"Now, draw." I pulled back the string until it seemed firm. "Further." I strained, managing to stretch it another inch or two.

"Further," he said again, "the string should come back past your ear." My arm was aching, and my bicep was twitching involuntarily with the exertion. I tried to eke out another few inches, but my arm gave way, jerking the bow and releasing the arrow at an awkward angle, almost straight up into the air.

"Gah!" Leopold shouted, ducking to the ground and covering his head. I only realized I was frozen and staring up at the sky when Stanley grabbed hold of me, pushing my head down and then bundling us both over.

There was a reassuring thump, that resembled metal hitting earth far more than metal tearing through flesh, and every muscle I had been tensing finally eased. I could taste blood, but after a momentary panic I noticed I had just bitten my lip a little aggressively.

"Thank you." I muttered as I got back to my feet, but he didn't acknowledge me. Instead he moved the few paces to where the arrow had landed and wrenched it from the earth. "I'm sorry."

"Let's try again." Was all he said, brushing the clumps of earth from the arrowhead and placing it back in the bow, handing it to me.

"Oh geez…" I heard Leopold mutter behind me.

Stanley was standing behind me, and this time he placed an arm around me and gripped the bow to hold it steady, and the other went around my hand on the string.

"Draw again." He ordered, and I pulled back using every ounce of strength I had, my teeth gritted in determination. "That's better." He said. When I couldn't pull back any further I felt him take some of the strain, moving the string back the final distance.

"Now hold it steady." He whispered. I could feel his breath on my skin, and the movement of his chest each time he inhaled. I struggled to keep the string taught without losing focus on the target.

"Breathe out." I did, letting the air flow out of my body. My brow was damp with sweat, and there was an irritating itch above my eye, the kind that taunts you knowing your hands are incapacitated.

"…Let fly." He finally said, releasing his grip on the string as I did the same. This time the arrow flew true, slicing up the air just to the side of the target.

"Good!" Stan said, the warmth of his body withdrawing and the cold air flooding in against my back. "Again."

There was definitely something therapeutic about archery, both in the serenity of the forest and the aggression of the arrow piercing the tree. It was hard to tell which relaxed me more. My arm was weary after just a few more shots though, and a couple of poorly timed releases had led to the string lashing against my forearm, which was now raw and bleeding gently.

"We must hunt." Stan announced after a while. "We cannot spend all day out here and return empty handed." He said, gathering the arrows and setting off deeper into the woods without warning, leaving Leopold and I to hurriedly follow.

Eventually I caught up with him, his figure hunched as he examined the ground. Occasionally he would stop suddenly, as if he'd heard some noise, and would scan the area for its source. "Stanley's the best at finding trails." Leopold whispered. "He knows the woods better than all of us."

Sure enough, after half an hour or so it seemed Stan had found something, and he started waving furiously to make sure we kept quiet. We were the deepest I had ever been into the woods, and I could hear the noise of running water up ahead, so there must be two rivers that flow through this valley.

We crawled on our bellies towards Stan, every rustle of clothing and crunch of leaves threatening to give our position away. I was awkward, clumsily plodding forwards, whilst Leopold and Stan were able to move so fluidly, stalking their prey.

A gap in the bushes gave us a clear view of a stag, drinking on the opposite side of the river. It was a majestic creature. It paused momentarily and raised its head, the reflection of its broad antlers shimmering in the water.

We crouched silently, barely daring to breathe until eventually it began to quench its thirst once more. Stan reached over his shoulder for his bow, and I remembered the precision with which he'd hit our tree target, which was at least as far away as the stag was now.

I flinched a little, trying to steady myself for the fatal blow I was about to witness. It wasn't Stan that delivered it though, as he passed the bow to Leopold, who stood up suddenly and unleashed two arrows in quick succession.

As it turned out, one was enough, striking the stag in the neck and bringing it down, already stunned when the second hit its flank. Leopold leapt into action, jumping over the bramble bush and wading across the river. When Stan followed I did the same, struggling to keep my balance against the strong current of murky water that splashed up to my waist.

On the other side, Leopold reached the stag and leapt on it, sinking a knife deep into its neck. Quickly the beast stopped writhing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Stan next to me, fixated on some trinket that hung around his neck, his fingers turning it over again and again.

"Here, clean this would ya?" Leopold said, handing me his bloodied knife. It was a surprisingly beautiful thing, despite its grisly purpose, the ornate handle bearing delicate spirals carved into the wood. I rinsed it in the stream until it regained its cold shine. I imagined the blood diluting in the river, and colouring it ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly redder.

When I returned the knife to Leopold I saw that he and Stan had already gotten to work, binding the stag's legs around a stick. "This is a big beast for just three to haul." Leopold said apprehensively.

"Yea." Stan replied. "Plus, y'know…" He gestured his head at me, unsubtly pointing out my weakness.

"We'll do fine, with Wodan's help." Leopold said with a smile, patting the fallen animal on its flank for good measure.

Even hauling the thing up onto our shoulders took a herculean effort, Leopold and I taking the back and Stan the front. On Stan's advice we made our way along the river bank to a shallower place where it would be easier to cross, but it made the journey longer still, and I felt ashamed to keep asking for a break when my shoulder ached too badly to continue.

By the time we crossed the river it was late, and darkness was dropping on the forest. We took a rest, and Leopold and I walked back down the bank to drink from the river.

"Sorry for slowing you down." I said, cupping water in my hands and bringing it to my face.

"Pray, don't worry!" Leopold replied. "It would be even slower without you."

"What is the thing Stan wears around his neck?" I asked, taking more of the cool liquid and pouring it onto my throbbing shoulder. My arm was still lacerated from using the bow as well, and my whole body felt like I had just wrestled with a bear or something.

"Stan?" Leopold laughed, looking at me curiously for calling him that. "You'd better ask _Stan _yourself. I'm, um, not sure I should explain it." He stuttered. "It's about his ma."

"Oh okay." I sunk back onto the grassy bank, dreading the moment we would have to continue this journey, and Leopold seemed to understand my situation, or at least he didn't rush me.

"We've done well today, mayhaps you're a lucky hunting charm." He said, patting me on the back. I held back a wince as a ripple of pain moved through my shoulder.

"I somehow doubt that." I laughed. "How come it was you that shot the deer, are you a better archer?"

"Oh, no, no, no." He replied eagerly. "Stanley, he…doesn't like killing things. He's odd like that." Leopold paused, lowering his face to the water to drink. "I mean, I don't like it much either, but I'm not so upset by it as he is. He helps with the rest, he just doesn't like being the one to…do it."

Leopold stretched and got to his feet. "C'mon, let's go while there's light left to guide us."

I sat for a second, smiling a little at the idea of Stan being too timid to hurt a deer, before Leopold reached a hand out to help me up. "Come on soldier, you can do it!" He shouted encouragingly. There was something very honest and naïve about him, and I really liked it. I wished the rest of the pagans could be more like him.

We reached the edge of the woods just as the last of the light was consumed by darkness, finding our way through the remaining trees with just slivers of moonlight aiding us. The forest belonged to creatures of the night-time now, owls, rodents and bats that owned the blackness just as men do the daytime.

"Shh." Stan said suddenly, just as we cleared the trees. There was noise coming from the village, angry shouts and commotion. Stan and Leopold dropped the carcass instantly.

"Stay here." Stanley said to me, his hand grasping his bow tightly. "I will get you when I know it's safe." With that he and Leopold ran towards the noise, their feet flying across the dark fields.

I sat by the stag, my feet still aching from our walk, and waited. I tried to see what was happening, but the light from the fire in the village was too dim, and my vantage point was too far away. Time passed and the noise didn't subside, but it didn't sound like fighting – I heard no clashes of steel or shouts of pain.

Eventually Stan returned, this time with Eric and Craig, presumably to help carry our spoils the remaining few hundred yards. "It's nothing, let's go." Was all he said.

"Don't worry, princess." Eric said when I reached to help carry the load. "Just be sure to get your pretty self back safe, eh? Stanley would be honored to guard you, no doubt." He sneered.

I fought back the urge to protest, though something about Eric filled me with rage more than anyone else I had ever met. He managed to be constantly both callous and malicious.

I found my family standing around the fire, and they seemed relieved to see me home safe again. I watched from a distance as the stag was sized up by the men of the village, and they seemed impressed with it. Someone got straight to work, removing the antlers that had stood upon its noble head so fiercely just a few hours ago.

"We heard noise as we walked back, what has been happening?" I asked.

"It's the Franks." My father said, and my heart sank. Of course it was. "The villagers are annoyed, because their Lord has granted the Franks permission to build a fort on a hill near here. They fear for their safety…"

It felt like they were following us, bloodthirsty wolves that wouldn't let us be. I shuddered, but hoped at least it might mean we move on towards the Byzantine Empire faster.

"If you look over to those hills you can see the lights of their fires." Father said, and sure enough I saw two ember glows in the distance, like angry eyes in the hillside, no doubt intent on conquering all in their gaze.


End file.
